She frowned. “Which describes vehicles driven by half the men in this county.”
“It’s something.”
“Didn’t you say one of the victims was…” Her voice the tiniest bit shaky, she quickly rephrased her question. “There was a semi truck involved somewhere, right?”
Dean shook his head. “The MO was out of an old movie that involved a semi, but the unsub didn’t use one. It’s clear on the video that he was driving a monster SUV, which he’d stolen.” He didn’t want to think about whether the less powerful vehicle had made the victim’s death any worse, but he suspected it had taken longer. “It was found a few days later, in another town, and treated as a standard auto theft. The locals didn’t know it was involved in a murder until we brought the case to them last week.”
“No prints?”
“Not a damn thing. If they even dusted for them.”
In a standard auto theft case, with a vehicle recovered within a few days, he’d bet they hadn’t bothered. He assumed the perp had cleaned off the back of the SUV, or even small-town, inexperienced guys would have recognized blood on the bumper and done at least something to investigate.
“After it was recovered, the SUV was traded in. We tracked it down to its new owner in Ohio, and had it picked up. There could be blood on the undercarriage even after all these months.”
She didn’t look particularly hopeful about that possibility. Considering Dean felt the same, he didn’t blame her.
“Too bad about the semi,” she said. “That would have narrowed things down, since they’re not something just anybody can jump into and drive.”
“Tell me about it. If the unsub was a licensed trucker, he’d be easier to track.”
Mulrooney cleared his throat. The quick, curious glance he cast between Dean and Stacey made Dean stiffen in his chair. They’d been talking as though the other two agents weren’t in the room, and while it had been strictly business, something made him wonder if the personal connection he shared with the sheriff had been noticed by others.
“So your guys are out stomping through the woods on their own today, right?” Mulrooney asked. “Better them than me. It’s going to be even hotter than yesterday.”
Stacey nodded, busying her hands with some blank sheets of paper on her desk. As if she, too, had realized they’d been ignoring the other agents. “Yes, the same three deputies. They know that if they find anything, they are to call immediately and not touch a thing.”
“Hope that crazy-as-a-jackrabbit guy on the ATV doesn’t show up,” Mulrooney said. “You sure we shouldn’t be searching on the inside of that fence?”
Stacey frowned. “I’ll handle Warren. But my opinion hasn’t changed, based on a lot of things, including the way the man in the video moved and acted.”
“I think there’s something there,” Dean said, flatly convinced of it. “I didn’t like that smile when he took off yesterday.”
Nodding, Stacey admitted, “I noticed it, too. Maybe he is hiding something. But I have a hard time picturing him as deliberate and patient as the Reaper.” Swallowing, she added, “If you want me to watch the other video files to see if that changes things…”
“Forget it,” Dean snapped, not even willing to consider letting her put herself through it. “Let’s do our interviews, see if Mr. Lee was anywhere near the tavern the night the victim disappeared. Look for any possible connection there. Then we’ll decide if we need to go have a talk with him.”
Jackie, who’d been jotting some notes on a small pad, rose. “Okay, guess that’s our cue to get moving. Kyle and I are headed to talk to”-she consulted the pad-“Mrs. Baker, who runs the drugstore where Lisa was last employed.”
Stacey grunted. “Good luck with that one. She fired Lisa for stealing from the register. I imagine she’ll have a lot to say about her, but none of it will be nice.”
Mulrooney shook his head. “There’s that bad-girl angle again. All the others were described as-how’d you put it?” he asked Stokes.
“Determined, headstrong,” she replied with a quirk of her mouth. “Which I took to mean they weren’t very well liked, but nobody wanted to speak ill of a murder victim.”
“But all successful, workers or students,” Mulrooney said. “No other druggies, ex-cons. She stands out.”
He’d noted the same thing the previous night, but obviously, judging by the thoughtful look on his face, Mulrooney considered the idea worth repeating. And Dean thought he was right. Every detail about Lisa’s case that made her unique from the others shored up their theories about her murder.
“Somebody who wouldn’t be missed,” Dean muttered, “somebody he could experiment on without too much fear of causing a big search and rescue.”
Stacey, who had just risen from her chair, stiffened and her jaw tensed. Dean saw a flash of emotion in her eyes, a hint of guilt in her tight mouth, and realized he’d just added to the weight of responsibility she’d already piled onto her own shoulders.
Stupid. He glanced at the others, wanting to reassure her, but not wanting to embarrass her in front of their colleagues. Knowing he would be alone with her in a car in a few minutes, he figured he’d have time to talk to her then. He’d let her know she had done absolutely nothing wrong and had reacted as anybody in law enforcement would have.
Before he could rise to leave, the door to Stacey’s office burst open. A wide-eyed young man, probably in his late twenties, erupted into the room, swinging an arm that was encased in a cast from the wrist to just above the elbow. “Is it true? Was Lisa murdered?” he bellowed, not even appearing to notice that three FBI agents and one annoyed-looking sheriff had all leaped to their feet and gone on alert at the unexpected interruption.
Stacey put a hand on the younger man’s arm. “Mitch, calm down.”
“I heard you were out in the woods looking for her body.” He thrust his good hand through his sandy blond hair, then noticed the others in the room. His face reddened, but he didn’t back out with an apology. Instead, his chin thrust forward, his expression going a shade grimmer. “It’s true. They’re FBI, aren’t they.”
“Yes, they’re FBI.” She released the man’s arm, watching him closely.
She probably wasn’t watching him as closely as Dean, Stokes, and Mulrooney were; however, it wouldn’t be the first time a perp had insinuated himself into a police investigation. Many serial killers had been well-known to the police before they’d been caught. And this guy had obviously known the victim very well, judging by his obvious dismay.
“And yes,” Stacey added, “we’re looking for Lisa’s remains.”
The truth of it seemed to deflate the young man, because he staggered back, his shoulders hitting the closed office door. He bent over at the waist, clutching his middle. “Oh, my God. She’s really dead.”
“Who is this?” Dean finally asked.
Stacey kept her eyes on the newcomer, giving him a frown of warning. “This is my chief deputy, Mitch Flanagan.”
Now it was Dean’s turn to be surprised. Her chief deputy? A guy in a cast with no sense of professionalism, since he’d burst in on a closed meeting? A guy who, judging by his behavior, had been involved with their victim? He and Jackie exchanged a quick glance, and he knew he wasn’t the only one in the room who wanted to know more.
Stacey returned her attention solely to Flanagan. “Were you friendly with Lisa?”
His mouth opened, no sounds coming out. Then he nodded. “We were close.”
Damn. Lovers. Stacey looked shocked. “How long had that been going on?”
“Nothing was going on. Not in that way.”
Doubtful. Or at least, not for lack of trying on this guy’s part.
“But we were friends. She could talk to me, and I was trying to help her.” He rubbed a hand over what Dean suspected were tearstained eyes.